I stop at the mall in Salem to pick up a suit coat that's needed for a weekend wedding, then I head up route 28 into Derry, where I keep going on Bypass 28 through Londonderry. There are multiple methods to my madness in heading straight up to Manchester with three hours to spare. The first is obvious, which is to avoid some of the interstate traffic, passage by which already seems futile. The second is to arrive at my destination early enough to get some homework done for my grad class.
The main reason I am heading north via the back roads, though, is for the view. I do love a good snow storm, but every time I get sick of the New England weather, which is usually mid-February to mid-April, spring happens. When spring allergies become unbearable, summer comes along, bringing the ocean with it (how anyone can live too far from the salt-water coast is an unfathomable mystery to me). The end of summer is a killer, and the separation anxiety has many of us wondering why we are still here and not living in the tropics with fruity beverages in our hands.
This is why autumn is so important. If fall weren't so damn beautiful, we'd probably have to hibernate like the bears do and not come out until it's fit for man and beast again. Autumn here in New England is spectacular. Along the route I've chosen for my northward quest is a local body of water, Lake Massabesic. Although in this area peak foliage has barely passed, it's still pretty impressive on nature's downside.
I stop first along the roadside, snap a few pictures with my phone, then head north to the main parking lot. I am not the only person there, but it is far from crowded. After backing in to a space, I step from my car (it has been warm today so the windows are wide open and my shoes are off of my feet) barefoot and snap some shots. The colors are no longer spectacular, but they are worthy.
I don't stay long. I could do my reading here, get caught up on my homework, but it's too distracting, too scenic. After doing what I came to do (pick up son and his girlfriend for my daughter's wedding), we all head south on I-93 in my car, tooling along at 70 mph while the north-bound side remains gridlocked at 7:00 p.m., four hours after commuters first hit the skids.
